In the past week, I’ve had hives, a monstrous headache, and some seriously awful dreams. Maybe you read about my dead husband’s visit (and his bringing me a gift of a small sasquatch — thanks, babe), and my very alive husband’s singing in his sleep (that sound; for a moment I thought it was the sasquatch). The dreams, the hives, the headache, these things don’t usually happen to me — at least not all at the same time.
I blame my kids. The one’s been trying to kill me for 29 years; the other for 22. I move at the…
When last we met, I’d written a piece about a hurtful post my son put on Facebook. The response to that piece was overwhelming. It received dozens upon dozens of comments on Facebook and LinkedIn, all supportive and, sadly, many sharing the fact that they’re in a very similar situation. I received emails and text messages and phone calls. Yes, people picked up the phone and called me. On Medium, my favorite site to write for, the piece received 787 views and as many reads. I couldn’t believe it.
Many of you asked me to please let you know how…
Of course we don’t, but his post hurt my mom and now I want to kill him
Like all good parents, I have done nothing but love my son. His grandparents, aunts, and uncles love him too and have gone above and beyond to always show him. First class tickets to Manchester, England to watch Manchester United play? No problem. Hours and hours on the phone listening to his frustrations, anger, and anxiety? Anytime. Buying the exact gift specified no matter how high its price tag? But of course. Money for therapists, special classes, psychiatrists? …
Particularly if you do it my way
Most people find decluttering and downsizing, also known as parting with shit crammed in closets, drawers, cabinets, the garage, basement, even under the bed, almost impossible to do. They find it overwhelming. Depressing. Paralyzing.
They can’t imagine tossing out the vomit stained “lovey” their now 35-year-old once clutched or the two dozen pacifiers the kid sucked on, bit, dropped in sand, the toilet, and the dog’s water bowl. And they get downright apoplectic at the thought of parting with their baby’s “artwork.”
“She won first place in the kindergarten art competition for this…
496 to go!
How do you folks do it? How do you write 500 words in one day, get them cleaned up, comprehensible, sometimes very funny, and post the whole shebang online? I am terrible at this. I fight with every thought, with the words to express those thoughts, with punctuation, sentence structure, with my brain screaming “You can’t write 500 words a day because you don’t have anything to say!” Of course that may be the real reason, but I refuse to believe it.
I’m a mom. A wife. A public speaker. An author for Pete’s sake. And I’m…
It’s frightening all around
I have some really weird habits. For instance, I pick at scabs, pull my hair out along my temples, and attack my toenails. (Seriously. I have like four left. My pedicurist never remembers my face, but as soon as she sees my feet she says, “It’s you!”) I also cry in my sleep. Scream, too. Sometimes I cry so hard or scream so loud, I pop bolt upright in bed, barely able to breathe and staring at my husband who’s staring at me and saying something to the effect of, “I’ve been trying to wake you…
Since I was about five, I’ve been prone to hives. Since high school, I’ve been prone to tearing out my eyelashes (but not eating them, though I’ve heard that’s a thing). And since becoming a mom nearly thirty years ago, I’ve been prone to breaking out in little red bumps that itch like hell if I touch something that, for lack of a better way to explain it, doesn’t like me.
Suffice it to say that, with the exception of the eyelash pulling business (which I don’t do any more thanks to my former shrink who made me wear a…
How to keep moving forward when you simply want to quit
As a writer, I’m one of the lucky ones. The two books I’ve written were published by a huge publishing house. They did pretty well, too. Nice reviews, decent sales. But that was then. 2008 and 2011 to be exact. It was a time when, if you rolled memoir, humor, and chick lit into a fast, funny read, agents and publishers were interested, really interested.
I was good at that. Still am. Only now, no one is interested. Why? Because I don’t have a huge platform, a mega social media presence. I’m not a TikTok or Instagram influencer. …
I envy people who can hop in their car and take off cross country without a moment’s hesitation. You know the kind I’m talking about; the kind who like to drive.
I am not that kind of person. To drive across country would mean planning out routes around any bridges I might encounter and triple checking their accuracy to make sure I’m not being duped by Google Maps.
It would also require determining how many miles I’d drive each day (in daylight, thank you) and booking a hotel to go to as soon as my odometer said I could stop…
I have a confession to make. Even though it’s nice and quiet and because it’s such I should stay here, at my desk, writing, I really want to go to Target.
I haven’t been there, for a leisurely stroll through the makeup department or an unhurried oohing and aahing over the brightly colored baubles in the jewelry section or a relaxed caressing of the faux leather but still luxe looking desk chair in the Magnolia Collection since Jesus invented the Jesus sandal. Which I remember because I picked up a pair.
